


Little Peacock

by Mysenia



Series: Tumblr Prompt Fills 2015 [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 19:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4361954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysenia/pseuds/Mysenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt “Peter learns Stiles find his ‘chest clevage very sexy, so he starts taunting and teasing Stiles, wearing his V-neck shirt. Leaning over him, or draping himself across tble stiles is working on to give him a good view. Crossing his arms to draw attention to it, excetera. Stiles responds by wearing tight shorts.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Peacock

**Author's Note:**

> For V-bird.
> 
> A/N: So I made this into a slight A/B/O fic. No one is really Alpha/Beta/Omega outside of the werewolves but Stiles is presenting like an omega in this. You can formulate your own theories as to why… maybe even come speculate about it with me? ;)

Stiles didn’t like Peter. His bite was a bit too mean, his teasing a tad too real. Peter didn’t try to make friends with the pack, ignored them on a regular basis and only demeaned them when he was forced to interact with them. Even with all that, Stiles couldn’t deny that he was attracted to Peter - or, to be more precise, Peter’s chest.

For whatever reason the wolf chose to wear the most obscene shirts, with the front of the shirt plunging down his chest in a sinfully delicious V. The plunge showed off his little wispy chest hairs, not too many but just enough - in Stiles’ opinion.

Stiles couldn’t help that his eyes followed the wolf whenever they were in a room together. His eyes drawn to that V, the muscled pecks peeking through. He wanted to run his fingers through the hair, scratching from one nipple to the other. He fantasized nipping at the pecks, blooming red flowers that would fade just as quickly as they were made.

He tried to not let himself think about the arousal flowing deep in his stomach, slowly blooming to consume him whenever Peter leaned over towards him. Tried not to let himself react when the wolf brushed up against him and how Stiles yearned for it to be skin on skin.

That stupid V. Stiles wanted to burn all of the wolf’s shirts, thereby ridding himself of the temptation that they offered when adorning Peter’s body.

He knew that he wasn’t masking his interest at all but since they were always surrounded by every other pack member - whenever Stiles had to be in Peter’s vicinity - he figured no one knew exactly whom the excitement was aimed towards. If anyone commented on it, he laughed it off as best he good.

Sometimes he found himself the object of Peter’s contemplative glances, the zing of arousal hitting him deep when they made eye-contact. He could always, _always_ feel when the wolf was watching him.

Stiles was no wolf but he felt warmth flow through him at those gazes, his body becoming something more pliable, smooth. His instincts were telling to show off, to move in such a way as to capture those eyes and keep them centered on himself.

When Stiles caught himself peacocking, he flushed. It only added to the heat he felt rushing through his body like the tide. He wanted to hide. He wanted to flaunt himself.

When it became too much he would make his escape, fleeing the loft on the pretext of grabbing food or that his father needed him. The pack didn’t question his flighty behaviour, his constant fidgeting. It was just Stiles being _Stiles_ , and for that he was ever grateful.

Though perhaps he didn’t escape complete notice. Those contemplative glances became full on stares, the wolf making no effort to hide that he was watching Stiles whenever they were together. It thrilled Stiles. He loathed it. He loved it.

It became quite clear very quickly after his latest dash out of the loft that Peter was on to him. The wolf had been wearing a white tee-shirt, his bronzed skin a stark contrast, his nipples tight little buds that poked out. Peter had kept twisting his body, the muscles rippling underneath. His hands smoothing down the front of his body in the pretense of getting rid of the wrinkles, but Stiles knew better.

Those hands had lingered too long over those perky nipples, circular motions of those hands before moving down an enticement that captured Stiles’ ever present gaze. The wolf had crossed his arms, emphasizing the pecks that Stiles longed to touch, and had smirked when Stiles finally managed to tear his eyes up to Peter’s face.

Peter knowing about his interest only sparked the fire higher in Stiles’ stomach. Clearly the wolf liked the attention, was asking for it even. The wolf had inched closer to Stiles the entire night, leaning over him when they were looking at the maps together. Pressing close to hear what Stiles had to say even though he could have heard him from across the room.

When Stiles found himself back in his room, his body flushed and yearning for a stronger hand than his own wrapped around his cock, he did wonder why Peter didn’t push him away. However, those thoughts quickly fled in the face of the fantasies that Stiles pulled up, of Peter holding Stiles down, their bodies in contact from shoulder to toe, knees rubbing; cocks rubbing; nipples rubbing. Their heat causing them to sweat and slide against each other, electrical zaps stinging on contact.

Stiles came with a groan. He was getting too close and if Peter was interested it was just going to push him to do something reckless.

* * *

The something reckless came in the form of Stiles putting on his most form fitting jeans and a black tee-shirt, pulling out a different stark contrast. He wanted Peter’s eyes drawn to his pretty pale skin, wanted to emphasize that he was ripe for marking.

He strutted, yes _strutted_ , into the loft at the next pack meeting. His hips swayed minutely and his shoulders were pushed slightly back. He wanted Peter to think about his nipples, hidden by the dark material, just begging to be pinched; begging to be hardened into peaks.

He shoved his hands into his pockets when he caught Peter’s eye, screaming _YES_ in his head when it drew the wolf’s eyes lower. He mirrored Peter’ stance, leaning back against a pillar, widening his stance. The wolf turned away.

That was okay, Stiles wasn’t deterred. The wolf wanted to play and so did Stiles.

He made sure to pass by Peter, scenting him with fingers trailing along the side of his neck. Peter’s gasp of surprise filled Stiles with glee.

When Stiles hit his destination, the table, he put his hands firmly on the table and leaned forwards, pushing his ass out. He could present like any good wolf. He gave his ass a little wiggle, as if to settle himself, and let out a soft keening sigh.

All the wolves glanced at him and Stiles just smiled serenely. They all quickly looked away which made Stiles wonder what they were smelling from him, but since the object of his desires was still behind him and too many feet away, Stiles felt that care slipping away.

He stayed there, hands planted, legs spread, eyes unfocused. The room was sweltering but he needed a blanket. He whimpered, trying to draw his wolf closer. He needed to be covered, needed his wolf enclosing him in his scent and body.

A searing heat flowed closer and Stiles could feel the sweat dripping down his body. He was ready but he waited. This was a test, a test to see if he could be a good boy. He could, he _really really could_.

His head drooped down, his body swaying back and forth, spreading his scent for his wolf. He wanted to cocoon his wolf, let him know that this was all for him, _always_.

Strong hands gripped his hips and he felt his wolf align their bodies, leaning his weight fully onto Stiles. Stiles sighed and braced himself. He was a good strong boy and he could support his wolf forever.

Peter’s nose caressing up his neck had Stiles cocking his head to the side, trying to bare as much of it as he could for his wolf’s perusal. A deep rumbling vibration flowed into his body all along the points of contact with the wolf. It was divine. Stiles moaned.

“My little peacock.” Peter murmured into his ear.

Stiles felt like he could cry in relief. His wolf had noticed and was happy. Stiles knew that his wolf was going to take care of him and so he let his mind drop down, firmly rooting itself in the pleasure of Peter’s presence.

Peter smiled into his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think.
> 
> ~ M


End file.
